


Keep Us Warm, Tonight

by Copper_mouth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Avengers Tower, Bottom Steve Rogers, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Avengers, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Avengers (2012), Sub Steve Rogers, Subdrop, Subspace, Top Tony Stark, daddy energy tony stark, pretty fluffy, with a little dash of Steve angst in there for fun, ye olde massage trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22160614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copper_mouth/pseuds/Copper_mouth
Summary: Steve and Tony often keep late hours together when sleep won't come to either of them. Tonight is shaping up to go a little differently, however.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 54
Kudos: 519
Collections: My favourites





	Keep Us Warm, Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Side note: If you are not A) a super soldier unable to catch infectious diseases due to comic book science or B) fucking a super soldier unable to catch infectious diseases due to comic book science, be aware that using massage oil as lube makes most condom usage basically ineffectual. You need to use water-based lube or certain non-latex condoms instead, as oil-based lube will break down the latex. Thank you to queenbarwench for pointing this out! This has been a PSA :)

Steve has no idea what time it is. 

The night has passed its midpoint by now, he knows, swinging into those first few hours past midnight when you can still feel yourself racing away from the day before. They haven’t reached that still, quiet time before dawn, when the sky is as dark as it will ever be, but you can no longer ignore the new day creeping towards you. 

Tony is immersed in the designs he’s pulled up on the glass interface embedded in the coffee table, and Steve knows he probably couldn’t even pinpoint the month they were in if he asked him. JARVIS is the only one in the communal living room who knows the time, and he’s not spelling it out on any screens that Steve can see. 

Good. If he can’t mark the passage of time, he can pretend it doesn’t exist. 

He sinks back even further into the end of the couch he’s curled up in. His legs don’t tuck underneath him quite as well as they used to, but he folds them up as best as he can anyways and props his sketchpad up on top of them. 

A collection of faces stares back out at him from the pages. Bucky, Peggy, the Commandos, Colonel Phillips, Howard, Dr. Erskine, old school friends, the kind woman who’d let him pick up work down at the docks on his good days, the editor of the periodical he had tried submitting his work to more than once with no success, neighbors he’d grown up with, schoolteachers, the grocer on his block. His mother. 

In his mind’s eye, they are vibrant and in full technicolor, eyes shining out and laughter echoing gaily in his ears, but on his paper they are dull, lifeless, monochromatic whispers, rendered faint and flat in his hands. 

Steve stares at his sketchpad, eyes outlining the ghosts it contains, trying to reconcile the long-gone with what his brain insists was just there, right behind him, so very recently. He imagines the images superimposed onto the memories of their subjects, still so fresh and new in the privacy of his mind. He envisions the two distinct views melding into one, dissolving into each other seamlessly to reveal a new perception, one that makes sense and guides Steve into understanding and acceptance. 

When the only affect that happens is his eyes watering with fatigue, he blinks and looks away, tempering his sigh into a long but measured breath. Minutely, he shifts in his seat, trying to roll his shoulders in a way that would relieve some of the tension that has built up painfully there, maybe pop open that tight spot on his spine that feels like a hand reaching in and clamping down tight. 

As he settles back down, he happens to glance over at where Tony is sitting on the other end of the couch. Tony’s watching him attentively. 

For weeks now, they’ve been meeting each other almost every night, deep into the long stretch of it while the rest of the tower is silent and sleeping. 

They both struggle with sleep. Steve had had to bite back a remonstration the first time he’d found Tony wandering the halls at three in the morning, deep circles under his eyes and the omnipresent thermos of coffee clutched in his hands. He had to admit the only reason he knew Tony wasn’t getting any rest was because he wasn’t as well. Tony had watched the realization play out on his face, eyes flickering as they moved to follow the thoughts tumbling through his mind, and he’d grinned. 

Steve was a little embarrassed even as they turned and made their way with mutual agreement to the living room for a Star Trek marathon. He knew he’d become the mother hen of the team, knew it rankled more than just Tony as well. He wasn’t sure exactly where it was coming from, why he was acting like that. Only, when his lonely mind reached out to his favorite memories of the people he missed so much he could barely breathe, he mostly remembered Bucky, and his mother, taking care of him when he was sick and looking out for him whenever he got into trouble. An almost desperate feeling came over him when he considered his teammates – the ones in this strange century he was putting his hopes in to become a new family, and he just _had_ to look out for them. He had to show them that same attentive care that was now missing from his own life. 

Tony went easy on him that night, giving quick, merciful deaths to the silences that hung between them every time Steve was faced with something he didn’t understand or just didn’t _know_ about in their conversation, letting Steve off the hook instead of teasing him ruthlessly every time he ran up against the limits of his timeframe and had to mark yet another hopeful chance for connection as _failed_. 

They’d made popcorn on the stove – for some reason Tony had on hand some of the old-fashioned popping kernels instead of the flat little bags that always left a strange taste in Steve’s mouth. He really had no idea why Tony even had them, as the billionaire had never taken it upon himself to prepare _real_ popcorn before. 

The first time a kernel popped in the pan Tony had actually shrieked. Steve turned to stare at him with wide eyes – he’d been reading about PTSD and he knew now that Tony had been in the war zone in Afghanistan and oh god, what if the noise had bothered him, put him right back in that place – then Tony was cracking up and Steve found himself helpless but to laugh with him. They’d giggled and shushed each other the whole time the corn popped in the pan, as if the other occupants of the tower could even hear them from their own floors. 

They’d watched the comings and goings of the crew of the Enterprise until the sun came up, and Tony had headed off, yawning, back down to his workshop. Steve loved Star Trek, loved their mission and the idealized version of earth that was portrayed, loved the wonky tech of the original series, similar but so different from the new technologies he was trying to learn in his new life, loved the give and take of the team at the heart of the show – especially Kirk and Spock. 

Whenever they felt like watching a show during their “insomnia parties”, as Tony liked to call them, they put on Star Trek. Tonight, though, Steve hadn’t wanted the noise of the TV to intrude on his mind, as full as it was. So they’d been working quietly on their own projects, settled into opposite ends of the couch, speaking only briefly with each other as they passed back and forth one of the bags of dried fruits and nuts Tony always had stashed around, ready to produce on a moment’s notice. 

Until now. 

Now, it seems like Tony’s full attention is on Steve, though he’s not really sure why or what brought on the change. His familiar, warm gaze doesn’t waver from his own as he taps absentmindedly on the screen until everything closes, eyes moving constantly across him, always noticing, cataloging, assessing. Steve feels a slow flush creeping up his neck and hopes the lights are dim enough that Tony won’t notice. 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting to come out of Tony’s mouth, but it definitely was not what is actually said. 

“Want a massage?” 

Steve blinks. The foreign question registers after a moment and now there’s probably no hope that Tony doesn’t see the blush lighting up his face. He blinks again. 

“Why?” he manages after a few beats, doubtlessly displaying that famed tactical intelligence he’s known for. Super soldier serum, eat your heart out. 

Tony smiles, a quick little thing that flits across his lips to fade almost immediately. The next breath he takes is almost nervous sounding. “You look tense, Steve. I mean – really tense. That’s gotta be painful.” 

Well, yes, he is tense. But that’s normal…expected even. It’s of no importance. The thought of Tony giving him a massage – the thought of Tony _offering_ him a massage – that’s what merits gawking over. 

He has no precedent for this. Should he say no? He should decline. Steve had never been able to fully grasp the limits and expectancies for physical contact between men even in his own time, and now that he’s been flown forward three quarters of a century he really has no idea what is acceptable and what’s not. It’s all a big muddle in his mind; still, he thinks this probably crosses a line, even for close friends. Are they close friends? He wants – he wants a lot, really. But that would be a start. 

“Yes,” he hears coming out of his mouth. He flounders, unable to close his lips back down around that word that somehow slipped its way out without permission. _What the hell, Rogers,_ he thinks furiously to himself. An egg would fry on his forehead for how hot his face is now. 

But Tony just smiles at him, a little relieved, like he had been worried Steve would say no. He wrings his hands in the way he has that Steve can now recognize means he’s fighting back embarrassment of his own, and Steve relaxes a little. 

“Great,” Tony says, clapping his hands together and standing up. Steve watches him with wide eyes, waits for him to come around behind him and put his hands on Steve’s shoulders, but Tony wraps his fingers around Steve’s elbow instead and urges him to his feet. 

“It’ll be easier over here, yeah?” he says as he leads Steve over to a padded bench that sits in a little alcove of windows. “Take your shirt off, big guy.” 

Tony claps him on the back and wanders off, leaving Steve alone with those instructions and the nerves steadily building up inside of him. Steve’s ears are hot now too. What has he gotten himself into? 

“You can just lay down on your stomach there on the bench. I’ll get some oil,” Tony calls out. Oh god. Steve swallows thickly. He’s using oil? 

Okay. Okay, he’s got to – figure out this mess of thoughts jumbling through him. He feels more than a little trepidation as he slowly unbuttons his shirt and slides it off of his shoulders. He does _want_ a massage, right? A massage from Tony? 

Yes, that answer is clear and unequivocal. A massage from Tony sounds great, sounds heavenly, sounds _divine_ , sounds like a reason for him to have been defrosted, actually. But, he’s nervous. Well, that’s natural, he figures. This is new, and Tony is a gorgeous force of nature who steals all the oxygen out of whatever room he enters, and this is something that Steve wants so very much. Oh. 

Okay. So, he’s nervous, but he wants to do this – that means he should. He’s never backed down from something just because he was afraid, and he’s certainly not going to start _now._

The leather of the seat is cool and soft as he lays his bare chest down onto it, and he tucks his nose in and inhales the clean scent deeply. After a moment’s hesitation, he brings his arms up to cross underneath his head, and he turns to face the windows surrounding him. He can’t quite bring himself to keep his face angled towards the rest of the room, where he would be able to see Tony flitting around, _preparing_. He keeps his legs straight out behind him, bare toes digging into the cushion nervously, and he hopes he’s positioned himself okay. 

Tony will tell him if he hasn’t, though. The thought floods warmth throughout his limbs. It no longer causes him embarrassment, someone having to correct him and teach him new things all the time, not when it’s him. Not when it’s Tony. 

The city twinkles merrily at him from where it’s spread out before him. Though the windows are tinted and cloaked with Tony’s own technology to the point where no one outside of the tower would be able to see in, Steve has a perfect view of the city through the wall-to-ceiling glass that wraps almost completely around him in this little nook, tucked off from the main area of the room. 

Though he can’t see many stars, the night is a rich, velvety black where it’s draped over Manhattan. It’s comforting to be back home, surrounded once again by the swarm of life that runs through the city, but it’s also different enough from this vantage point that it feels new and uncharted, even now. The luxury Tony keeps them living in is hard to get used to. Most of the time Steve feels like the pauper who had been thrust into a life of riches, like you would read in an old storybook. 

He shivers on top of the bench, goosebumps prickling up across his arms and down his sides. Tony’s voice is a lot closer than Steve expects when he speaks, sending a low thrill to jolt through him. 

“JARVIS, turn up the temperature a bit, would you?” Tony’s voice is warm and smooth, sending visions of amber and dark honey, smoky bourbon behind his eyes as he closes them. There’s a hot, heady feeling flaring up inside of him as he listens to Tony make his way up behind him. 

There’s a long moment where he can feel Tony standing beside the bench, can feel his eyes roaming across him, sending sparks shooting up his spine and something like hope unfurling in his chest. 

Finally Tony speaks. “Lock down the room, J.” 

Steve holds still so he doesn’t give himself way, clamps down the delicious shiver crawling up his spine. He wants to shift, wants to slide his hips across the seat and luxuriate in the hot weight of Tony’s attention, wants to curl his toes and let loose the sound building up in his throat and Tony hasn’t even _touched_ him yet. 

Then he hears a bottle being opened, followed by slick sounds as Tony runs oil over his hands, warming it for Steve. At this point, he’s more tense than he has been all evening, trying to keep himself collected while he hangs by a thread, waiting for Tony to begin. 

He gasps when a wet hand finally touches the skin of his shoulder, but Tony’s murmuring at him and apologizing for startling him and then heat is being pressed into him. 

Tony’s hands roam all over his back, traveling up to his shoulders, running down his arms and sides and Steve finally lets himself groan. Tony chuckles as he continues spreading the oil over him, and Steve can’t help but smile in agreement. 

_God, this feels nice,_ Steve thinks. Tony’s hands feel lovely as they sweep up and down, trailing sparks under his skin and pressing up against the soreness all his tension left behind. It’s great, he decides. This massage was a great idea. 

Tony nudges his feet gently off the bench to hang down near the floor and seats himself behind Steve. Steve can feel his pulse quicken as blood rushes south from the close proximity. 

“Alright then,” Tony says, and disappointment floods Steve. He’s done already? It had only been a few minutes since he started. But, Steve should be grateful. Tony didn’t have to help him out at all. 

Then Tony continues. “Now that I’ve got you all oiled up, the massage can begin.” 

_Oh._ That hadn’t been the massage, just Tony rubbing the oil into his skin? Then what – oh. _Ooohhhhh._

He thought Tony had been rubbing him firmly before. Warm hands land on the small of back and drag upwards, pressing down _hard_ as two thumbs make a trail up his spine. _Oh god._

Steve knows he makes an obscene sounding noise as Tony’s hands finish their climb up to his shoulders and then sweep back down, but Tony doesn’t give him any time to feel embarrassed. 

“There you go,” Tony says lowly, and continues. He digs his palms into the tension above Steve’s hips, then circles them upwards to massage through the rest of his back. A hand drags up the center of his spine and Steve almost chokes with relief. Then Tony is grabbing his shoulders and pulling them back to reach towards each other and something pops, right in the center between his shoulder blades. 

He’s moaning almost continuously now, and he’s worried that he probably sounds ridiculous, but god it just feels so good he could almost cry. Tony’s hands are broad and pleasantly calloused, and the oil seems to get warmer every time he rubs it further into Steve’s skin. 

Tony’s fingers knead into the tops of his shoulders, rub a little more gently up along his neck, slide down his arms to press into the muscles there as well before ending up at his back again. 

It’s amazing. 

He’s putty in Tony’s hands. Tony is kneading him and pulling him like bread he’s about to put in the oven, he’s forcing Steve’s stress out by the strength of his arms. He’s pushing the tightness out of Steve’s body like a wave, then rolling him back under as he pulls him back into himself. 

Steve never knew he could feel like this. 

Slowly, surely, the painful stiffness is wrung from his upper body, leaving a tingling looseness in its wake. His head lolls as Tony works him over, and he can’t even notice to care about it. He thinks, if he opened his mouth to try to speak, he might start to sob instead. 

Then Tony shifts and a new awareness bolts through him like a streak of Thor’s lightning. Tony is close – _extremely_ close to him, the vee of his crotch pressed right up against his rear, and Steve can feel every last sensation of Tony moving so near to that sensitive area. 

It dawns on Steve embarrassingly slowly that he is hard enough to pound nails where he’s being slid across the seat from the force of Tony’s ministrations. 

There’s no way Tony doesn’t notice the immediate uptick of tension ratcheting back up to Steve’s shoulders, but miraculously, he doesn’t comment on it. 

Steve wants to freak out. He loves and hates that expression – it was one of the first he had learned this century, and he can’t decide if he can appreciate or not how well it seems to fit his internal mood so frequently. If there was ever a time for it, though, it would be now. 

He grapples with his uncertainty as Tony deftly chases the strain back out of his muscles with his strong, confident fingers. There’s just no doubt about it – Steve is desperately turned on where he lays beneath Tony’s hands. And try as he might to will it into existence, the truth is that Tony has never let an opportunity slip him by to be far more observant than is convenient for those around him. 

Tony has to know. 

Steve ponders, for a moment, if he would be able to shield himself with willful ignorance, drawing up plausible deniability around him like a cloak. He wonders if he could pretend this all away, hide and avoid until Tony takes pity on him and magics his troubles out of existence, like he always does. He wonders if he even wants that. 

Refusing to decide is still a decision, in the end, and the chance for Steve to bluff his way out of his predicament fades from view, if it ever even existed. 

Tony’s hands are slowing, lightening against his skin until they are brushing almost questioningly through the oil. 

“Steve,” Tony says, his voice dark and heavy, sliding down his spine like molasses. There’s no way he can stop the full-body shudder from rippling through him, and he finds himself panting, straining against the cushion as it works its way down. 

Steve closes his eyes. There’s nothing for it, now. Tony knows, and – Steve is in his hands. He trembles, waiting for the reaction he knows is coming. He can’t bear to speculate on what it might be. 

Tony settles his hands on Steve’s hips, and Steve gasps. His thumbs are rubbing little circles into the skin there, dipping under his waistband almost accidentally with every few passes. 

“Do you want me to take these off?” Tony asks him. 

Fire ignites inside of him, coiling low in his belly and twisting its way up his torso, sweetly, painfully enthralling. He very nearly cries out. 

“Yes,” he manages to get out after the shortest eternity spent trying to heave air back into his lungs. “Yes,” he repeats, firmer this time, and musters himself to turn slightly, meeting Tony’s eyes where he looms behind him. He wants Tony to see the truth there – needs him to know. 

Tony stares back at him for a moment, eyes wide with too many emotions for Steve to even name, then they flutter shut and he groans, tipping his head back. He takes a steadying breath and then catches Steve’s gaze again. 

Steve relaxes under his sight, letting his head sink down until his cheek rests on the leather of the seat, still looking backwards at Tony. 

“Ok, gorgeous,” Tony says, taking another deep, shuddery breath, and then it’s like a switch has been flipped. Tony smiles at him and the fingers wrapped around his waist dig in harder for a brief moment, and it seems as if Tony’s come back into himself a little, taking control of the reins again with his easy, well-deserved confidence. 

Steve doesn’t have to worry about this. The thought has been hanging there in the back of his mind since they began, waiting impatiently for him to acknowledge it. Steve can put himself in Tony’s hands, literally and figuratively, and trust that Tony will take care of him. 

The realization sweeps away the rest of any trepidation or uncertainty he might have had, leaving him with nothing but anticipation and desire. 

He forgets how to coax the air into his lungs as Tony’s hands reach underneath him and undo his fly with ease. Tony urges his hips upwards, then his fingers are curling underneath the elastic of Steve’s underwear and pushing everything down, sliding the last of his clothes from his hips and over his legs as Tony stands up and resituates Steve to lay fully across the bench again. 

Steve’s nervous, yes, but the nerves are delicious. The air is no longer cool where it touches his bare skin, thanks to the heat JARVIS is pumping into the room. He still feels giddy and shivery inside, but even that is slowly being pushed under the surface by the warm, liquid weight settling over him and melting down to his center. 

Tony doesn’t say anything, but Steve doesn’t mind. He’s kept a hand on Steve’s flank the whole time, and that’s all the anchor Steve needs. 

Then the hand is moving downwards, being joined by its partner, and Steve gasps as the pool of oil that had collected in the small of his back is pushed in a wave up the curves of his rear. 

For a moment, as Tony begins to knead into the muscle there, he forgets even to be turned on for how good it feels to be massaged there, how it sends instant relaxation up into his back and all down his legs. 

Tony chuckles as Steve groans appreciatively. “Feels good?” he asks, as though he didn’t already know. 

Steve hums in response, smiling again. He doesn’t think anything has ever felt this good. 

He’s forced to reevaluate that claim several times over, as Tony gradually works his way down, digging fingers into his thighs and calves, spending glorious, blissful minutes on the soles of his feet. 

For some reason, the sharp sensation of Tony digging his knuckles right into the arch of each foot sends new strength to his arousal, causing him to bite his lip and squirm against the seat. 

He thinks, somewhat hazily, that normally he would be mortified by that reaction. But he knows now, he doesn’t have to worry about Tony thinking ill of him. Tony’s murmuring words of encouragement and appreciation as he’s working his way over Steve’s body, as if Steve was the one doing anything other than laying on the bench and enjoying himself. 

A sensation of teeth grazing the bottom of his calf, just above the tendon, causes him to gasp, but his head is swimming so much he doesn’t know if he imagined it in the very next second. 

Then Tony’s hands are sliding underneath of him, starting at his ankles in a warm grip and moving up the fronts of his legs, kneading where they can, spending long moments working into his quads and banishing any remaining tension there. 

They travel upwards again, and Steve’s breath hitches as they reach the tops of his thighs, but Tony only grabs his hips in a quick squeeze before continuing on in his unknown journey. 

There’s no time for Steve to be disappointed, though, because Tony’s hands are running under his stomach up to his chest, fingertips digging upwards with a pressure that has Steve moaning again. 

Tony is leaning over Steve now, kneading into his chest and almost pushing his pecs towards each other in way that has Steve blushing again, has him wanting to curl up and hide at the same time that he wants to push into those hands and throw himself into the mercy of Tony’s gaze. 

Fingertips graze his nipples almost as if by accident, then return with purpose to run over the peaks rapidly building there. Tony slides his fingers on either side of them and pinches, softly, forcing sounds Steve can’t even identify out of the back of his throat where they had been huddled, fighting desperately not to be found. 

Tony tuts at him, then a hot mouth is grazing his shoulder, lips opening soft and wet onto his skin in between the points of Tony’s goatee that prick at him sharply. 

“Don’t try to keep quiet, Steve,” he says softly, making his way up Steve’s neck to catch the lobe of his ear in between his teeth. 

Steve keeps his eyes shut. He’s trembling again, shuddering and pushing his chest into Tony’s hands, though nothing dissipates the feeling of being warm and safe in the circle of the arms that are holding him. 

“I want to hear you,” Tony whispers directly into his ear, and Steve chokes on the moan that had been building in his throat, before he lets go and voices it completely. 

“Steve,” Tony sounds pleading, almost, sounds almost as needy as Steve feels as he noses his way down Steve’s cheek and stops a hair’s width away from his lips. 

Steve opens his eyes and shows him, all the longing and desire and _trust_ he knows have to be pouring out of him, and Tony – he sees. He sees him. 

It’s an awkward angle for a kiss, until Tony slides ones of his hands up to cradle his head and lift him slightly, gently, up to meet him. 

It’s slow, so slow and sweet, causing Steve to groan and push upwards for more, but Tony just steadies him and refuses to be rushed. His lips tingle where Tony’s press against them, warm pleasure shooting out almost lazily as Tony takes one of them in between his teeth in a soothing, aching drag. Tony’s tongue slides between them, slips over his teeth and probes further, pressure increasing, agonizingly sweet, over his mouth. Hesitantly, Steve moves to meet him, to welcome him inside of his mouth, but it’s hard to think underneath how good Tony’s making him feel, hard to move beneath it. 

Tony draws back just as slowly as he came, and when Steve opens his eyes again Tony’s face is flushed and smiling, no hint of complaint in his expression. 

He lays Steve’s head back down on the cushion and spends a few minutes running his hands back over Steve’s shoulders and down his arms, pressing deep points of relief into the looseness of the muscles he finds there. He digs his thumbs down the back of Steve’s forearms, then Steve smiles as his fingers suddenly find themselves cupping Tony’s bearded chin, as he places a kiss in the center of Steve’s palm. 

His erection, while not exactly flagging before, kicks back up a notch as Tony’s hands make their way back down his sides to knead into his ass again. He lets himself be moved across the cushion from the gentle weight of Tony’s movements and realizes as he slides through a wetness that’s not oil, that he’s leaking under his stomach already. 

He nudges his thighs apart hopefully and grins at the huff he gets from Tony in response. 

The line of Tony’s fingers is sweeping tantalizing close to the center, dragging up and down and pushing into the flesh there that surrounds where Steve actually wants him. 

“Steve,” Tony says, and his voice is as rough and deep as Steve’s ever heard him. “Do you want – ?” 

His voice trails off in a question, then his cheeks are being pulled apart carefully, agonizingly slowly, and one of Tony’s thumbs slides down the middle to brush over his hole, warm oil spreading into the pucker to cool in the air as he’s exposed. 

Steve can’t help but gasp under Tony’s gaze, Tony’s _hands_ finding him there. He reaches down blindly to grab at where Tony is bracing himself over the seat with one hand, wraps his fingers around his wrist. 

“Yes,” he says. Of course yes, a million times yes, he doesn’t say, but he squeezes Tony’s arm and hopes he heard him anyways. 

Tony groans then too, just at the thought of being with Steve _like_ _that,_ hanging his head down to rest on Steve’s shoulder while he takes deep breaths and tries to get himself under control. It’s relieving, if Steve’s being honest with himself, to see Tony so affected as well. To know how much he wants Steve, that Steve isn’t just a conquest to him, or even more likely, that Tony is not just doing this to make Steve feel good. Tony wants him too. 

Steve’s heart is pounding now, and his mouth is dry as he tries to swallow his nerves down, but he shifts his thighs open even wider as Tony runs his free hand back up and down his skin, dips his fingers in to rub oil into his crease. 

Then a finger finds his entrance again and Steve can’t help but tense, but Tony drops a kiss into his hair and shushes him, and the finger circles him over and over again without dipping in, until Steve is squirming with it, trying to keep from crying out from the exquisite pleasure that builds warm and slow under his skin from being stimulated there. 

Tony rubs him there for a reassuring amount of time before gently probing inwards, long enough that Steve has vanquished any residual nerves what seems like ages ago and is eager for the intrusion when it comes. 

It feels so good as Tony’s finger slips inside, so right and easy, and Steve can’t hold back the little gasping moan he lets out with his next breath. 

Like he’s been doing all night, Tony takes his time, slowly pressing deeper within him, massaging him from the inside, pushing more and more oil into him until everything is one easy glide inwards. 

He feels amazing inside of Steve. Steve is still hanging off of Tony’s arm where it’s planted on the bench, eyes pressed closed but mouth gasping open as he moves back against Tony’s hand, trying to get that digit as deep as it will go. 

Then Tony’s finger pushes against something inside of him that sends pleasure flaring hot and bright through him, causes his eyes to fly open as he starts arching off of the seat unthinkingly. 

Tony’s hand falls out of his grip as Tony reaches up with it to press firmly between Steve’s shoulder blades, pushing him back down to the bench before Steve even thinks about resisting. 

To Steve’s mortification, his hips give an involuntary thrust as Tony forces him back down, and he can’t help the strangled cry that forces its way out between his teeth. Tony’s finger stills inside of him and for a brief moment Steve goes cold, thinking he’s ruined everything with that instinctive response. 

But the hand on his back slides up to card through his hair and curl tightly around the strands as the finger inside of him presses down firmly on that hot, white spot that causes him to see stars, and Tony’s leaning back down over him to nose along his neck and jawline, hot breath sinking into his skin as Steve cries out again, because he remembers now what he had forgotten for one brief second. 

He knows and Tony’s telling him anyways, with the weight of the care he uses as he holds Steve in his hands, the responsibility he’s lifted from Steve’s shoulders, the heavy possessiveness that he curls around him, the sharp bite as he sinks his teeth into Steve’s neck, claiming and taming every one of Steve’s sensations as his own. 

Tony’s got him. It’s okay. 

Steve floats, safe underneath where Tony’s kneeling above him, loose and relaxed again. He’s not thinking of anything, just taking the experience as Tony’s giving it to him, and it’s such a relief to be able to just _feel,_ basking in the warmth of Tony’s focus. 

Tony adds another finger inside of him and he luxuriates in the stretch of it, feels himself opening up a place for him, marvels at how good everything feels. He hasn’t experienced an ounce of pain since Tony began. Steve sighs and sinks down even further into the trust he’s knows he’s rightfully placed in Tony. 

Long, slow minutes pass as his world narrows down to the hands holding him fast within their grip. Whatever that place is inside of him, the one that lights up his senses and leaves him reeling whenever Tony presses into it, it’s being stimulated almost constantly now as Tony curls his wrist and grinds into him, continually massaging into that place with unerring precision. 

Tony’s still holding him down onto the seat with the hand on his back, but there is nothing to hold back Steve’s hips as they jerk in the air and grind back down, legs twitching and shaking from the relentless press of Tony’s fingers. 

Finally Tony subsides, fingers stilling inside of him as his thumb strokes through the oil on his cheeks. He squeezes Steve’s shoulders and gives him a brief rub on his back as he settles on the bench, eyes still closed tightly and breath coming in little hiccoughing gasps as he comes down. 

The hand on his back slows, as if Tony’s thoughts are elsewhere, then taps a little staccato rhythm into his skin absent-mindedly. Steve opens his eyes and looks up at Tony in question; Tony smiles when he catches Steve’s eye, then clears his throat. 

“Steve,” he says. “Do you want more?” He punctuates the question with a quick grind against Steve’s hip, so Steve can feel he is just as hard as he is, then he continues. “Because I’m not going to lie, Steve. I’d really love to give you more.” 

There’s no mistaking what Tony is asking him. He concentrates on the feeling of Tony’s erection sliding against his skin, hot and eager even through the clothing separating them. Heat is burgeoning up through him, though he can feel a glint of cold threading underneath of it as well. 

He can’t deny, even for a moment, that what he wants lines up exactly with what Tony is offering. 

“Yes,” he answers softly, and he closes his eyes. He shivers as the warmth of Tony’s hands leaves him in the next second, but he jumps and can’t help but smile as he feels Tony press a quick kiss to the corner of his eye before he gets to his feet. 

“Just going to get something,” Tony tells him, and then footsteps are receding away from the alcove. 

Okay. He has a moment, then. He – he needs a moment. 

What is this fear that is winding icy and sharp through him coming from? Steve definitely wants what he just agreed to, but trepidation is building as well, simmering just below the surface. 

He shifts against the bench, needing the friction on his aching erection, but his focus is inwards, trying to pry apart and dissect the source of his misgivings. 

Tony was just so good at this. He’d had the oil ready, he’d taken Steve apart so expertly with his hands, he’d known just what to do to make Steve feel good. 

He was a pro. And Steve – what was Steve’s place in all of this? Not a conquest, surely, he knew Tony too well to fathom him thinking that way about Steve. But…what were they doing, exactly? 

Steve knew what they were doing went beyond friends helping each other out. At least, he’d known that in the 40s. Who’s to say he understood all the possible meanings and implications of their interactions now? 

It’s just that - he wants more, from Tony. He wants all kinds of things, and he has no idea if what Tony wants lines up with his own desires. 

But if this is all he gets, if this is the only shape of Tony’s regard towards him, he’ll take it. He can enjoy that, at least. 

Steve’s feeling a little calmer by the time Tony returns, grinning ruefully with a condom in his hand. 

“Didn’t have any on this floor,” he says, and that makes sense to Steve, even if it does send ideas of all the places around the tower where he and Tony could possibly use them flashing quickly through his mind. 

He chides himself mentally for assuming there will even be a repeat, and he must look lost in thought because Tony’s gaze gentles, and he crouches down near him to catch his eye. 

“Hey,” Tony says. “If you change your mind, it’s fine ok? Just tell me what you want.” 

Steve smiles. It feels like he’s moving slowly, carving through some languid heat that’s pressing down on him physically. 

“I want you,” he answers Tony, and is rewarded by a breath-taking smile lighting up Tony’s face. 

“You got me,” Tony says, and then he’s moving again, coming up behind him and leaning over the seat. 

Steve can’t see him anymore, but his skin feels sensitive underneath the oil and he is achingly aware of the line of warmth that marks Tony’s presence as he nears him. 

Clothes hit the floor as Tony shucks them carelessly, eagerly, and Steve’s twisting across the bench with the anticipation keying up inside of him. 

Then hands are back on his skin, glorious, hot, rough, _Tony,_ and they’re sliding down his back and teasing at his entrance and digging into the meat of his ass as Tony settles in behind him and Steve lets out a long groan. 

Tony bends over him, breathing hard, and Steve’s brain whites out because there’s a sensation of teeth biting down at the junction right at the top of his thigh, and then Tony’s straightening up and holding him open with his thumbs and something big and blunt is prodding at his hole. 

The moment stretches into an eternity before Tony presses inwards, one long easy push into the oil as Steve’s body envelopes him effortlessly. 

Oh God. Tony is inside of him, holding him open with the rigid heat of his cock, and Steve can’t help but clench up around him to feel it better, a low whine building in the back of his throat. 

It feels so good he thinks he might die. 

Tony already stretched him out so thoroughly, and he’s already electric inside from the earlier stimulation, and his whole body is loose and warm and _good,_ he’s never felt so good in his entire _life_ – 

Tony’s head thunks down onto his shoulder blade as Tony tries and fails to get a deep breath in around the groan he can’t seem to hold back. 

“God, Steve – “ he chokes out, and Steve reaches back blindly to grasp at his leg, try to anchor themselves together. Kisses rain down on Steve’s back, his spine and neck and the tops of his shoulders as Tony’s hands flex on his hips and they both try to regain some measure of control. 

Steve’s eyes are open, but he can barely see for how good he feels, and Tony seems to be even more affected than he is. Warmth blossoms through his chest as he considers this. This reaction of Tony’s – this has to go beyond just sex for him, right? Tony winds his arms around Steve’s middle and breathes deeply into his skin and Steve lets himself tentatively hope. He doesn’t think Tony would react this way if he didn’t have some emotions on the line as well. 

Time falls away as Tony begins to move inside of him. Every nerve ending is sensitized and singing with it as white-hot pleasure blossoms inside of him, aching heat spreading between his hips from that one point of contact. 

His world narrows down to the places where Tony’s holding him, arms wrapped around him, fingertips digging into his skin, forehead and teeth and hot breath sliding along his shoulders as that hard length spears him open again and again. 

The sensation of Tony’s cock pushing inside Steve so easily, flesh giving way so eagerly to the intrusion, welcoming it into the soft cushion of his body, asking it to make a home there – it’s everything he never knew he was missing. 

Steve knows he has to be gasping like a landed fish at this point, moans and cries interspersed with the shuddery breaths he takes as his lungs try to keep up, but he can’t bring himself to more than note the sounds he is making in passing. What might have been embarrassing with any other lover, something he would try to rein in and keep hidden, he just plain doesn’t care about. With Tony, he doesn’t have to worry about it. 

Tony’s here, he’s got Steve, he _has_ him – and he obviously doesn’t mind. In fact, he seems to like it, seems to like everything that’s happening, judging from the murmured appreciation and words of encouragement sliding right through his lips onto Steve’s skin. 

He wants to argue, a little, wants to object – because Tony is telling him how good Steve feels, how wonderfully he’s taking him, and Steve isn’t even the one making this all happen. Steve isn’t doing _anything,_ beyond lying limp and trusting in Tony’s arms, surrendered completely to the pleasure being given to him. 

All he can do, though, is whine a little and squirm in response, and Tony shushes that too, tucks those worries away into some secret place Steve doesn’t know about, the way he did with every other anxiety he’s had this evening. 

When Tony wraps one hand around Steve’s opposite shoulder in order to pull him more firmly back onto his cock, Steve’s feet bang onto the floor before he even registers they’ve left the bench, or remembers that they exist at all. It’s good, though, because he can brace himself better now to meet the increasing force of Tony’s thrusts, can move against him in rhythm even as Tony’s tongue circles his ear and threatens to drive every other thought right out of his brain. 

A hand winds it way back up to bury in his hair, and Steve finds his head held firmly in position so that Tony can nuzzle into the chords of his neck and bite bruises into the tender places he finds there. Then another hand slides down to wrap around Steve’s cock, all the pleasure thrumming through Steve’s body spooling down instantly to concentrate within that firm, reverent grip. 

Steve’s hips are still snapping back to meet Tony’s, and for an instant the sight he must make flashes behind his eyes and sends heat spiraling through him even higher. Bare toes sliding across the floor, pelvis raised off of the seat in anticipation, back arched with head pulled back from the fingers held tightly in his hair, his own hands clenching onto the cushion so hard he’s surprised he hasn’t ripped the damn thing yet. 

His thighs tremble with the effort of holding himself in the position Tony’s shaped him into, and he didn’t even know he could feel strain like this anymore, but Tony’s goatee scratches the side of his face as he licks words of praise into the sensitive spot just below Steve’s ear. He’s telling Steve how good he’s being, how good Tony always knew he would be like this, and fulfilling this request from him, shaping himself into the perfect vessel for Tony’s desire feels just as amazing as the places where their skin slides slick and hot together, where Tony is holding him open and filling him and making his very core catch fire. 

Then Tony’s hand squeezes around Steve’s prick, and his thumb slides through the slit and Tony tells him to come and so he does. 

The crest seems to go on forever; every time he thinks it’s subsiding Tony jolts him back up to the top from his place deep inside of Steve’s body. 

He floats afterwards, enjoying the way the aftershocks ripple through him and send him clenching helplessly around the cock still pushing into him. Tony’s really pounding him now, chasing his own release, and Steve swims in his head beneath him and enjoys the warm waves sweeping through his body, lighting up every muscle and bone and space in between until he feels like he’s a being made of pure light, the tempo of his heartbeat replaced by the pulsating give between his legs where he accepts Tony inside. 

When Tony finally comes, rigid and twitching above him as he buries his face in Steve’s neck and empties himself completely, Steve has just enough presence of mind to find himself wishing that he hadn’t used a condom. He tucks that thought away to examine later as more and more of Tony’s weight rests across him, and with a sudden start Steve realizes that their time together is coming to an end. 

They lay together quietly, the only sound their panting breaths filling the air, for a shorter time than Steve allowed himself to hope. 

Ice trickles down his throat as Tony shifts, then the hot pressure all along his back lifts off of him and the cold seeps below his skin again. 

Steve is horrified to find tears welling up in his eyes as static fills his ears and swamps his brain, hands clutching uselessly at the bench beneath him as the room around him begins to spin horribly. 

_Tony left._ He took Steve, reshaped him and filled him and put him on top of the world, and now he’s gone. Tony’s gone. He, he – he’s back? 

A sob tears its way out of Steve’s throat, and he tries to hide his face as Tony comes running back into the alcove, dropping to his knees and swiftly reaching out to cradle Steve’s face. 

“Hey, no, no no no, sweetie, I’m here,” Tony says quickly, brow furrowing and lips pulling down with worry as hot hands land onto Steve’s skin and renew their battle against the tension they find there. “Didn’t you hear me say I was just going to get something to clean us up?” 

No, Steve didn’t hear him, but he can’t answer because the tears have spilled out and he’s crying now, oh god, Tony’s never going to want to have anything to do with him ever again. He wishes he never came out of the ice. 

But there’s a strong forearm circling underneath his head and lifting him up to tuck his face into the crook of Tony’s neck, and a hot damp cloth is running across his skin, shucking the oil and come that had started to dry there, stiff and tacky, and Tony’s muttering into his ear about how sorry _Tony_ is, and how Steve didn’t do anything wrong, and how Tony is going to take care of him and make sure he got back to feeling good, the way he’s always supposed to. 

The cloth dips into the crease of his ass, hesitates for a moment, then is pushed gently inside him with the tip of Tony’s finger, cleaning even _there,_ and Steve can’t help but to cant his hips up minutely as his thighs fall apart and he keens into the meat of Tony’s shoulder where he hides. 

Tony soothes him, arms like steel bands around him, penning him in, and the sleepiness crowding into Steve’s mind takes him from one minute to the next, until he finds himself swaying on his feet, leaning onto the shorter man as apprehension fills him at the thought of having to return now to his cold, lonely room. 

Apparently, he’s the only one thinking that way. Steve blinks up at Tony, surprised, as he’s tucked into decadent sheets up in the suite of the penthouse, curled up and swaddled near the center of the giant bed. He’s not quite successful at wiping the tears off his cheeks before Tony’s crawling in next to him, but Tony just pulls him back into his chest and tucks their faces close together so he can brush them gently away himself. 

Then Tony’s kissing him and kissing him and telling Steve all sorts of wonderful things that he won’t believe until morning, and Steve lets his mind finally quiet where he’s folded into Tony’s arms, and sleep overtakes him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! I did put a little time and effort into editing this, so constructive criticism would be appreciated. Let me know what you think :)
> 
> Join me in pro-shipping, multi-shipping, Tony Stark stan hell on [tumblr.](https://copper-mouth.tumblr.com/)


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